The Maid For Pleasure Bundle 2

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The Maid For Pleasure Bundle 2

Recent Releases

Author's Note: All Characters Depicted Herein Are 18 Years Of Age Or Older. | Maid Made Bare 4: Serving The Biker Gang

Maid Made Bare 5: Maid For Sale

Maid Made Bare 6: Scoring With The Football Team | Week 16

Week 5

Week 7

Week 12

Week 16

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Further Reading: Paid & Laid: The Interview

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P
aid & Laid – A Taboo Heir

Hot, barely legal Audray gets a new Man of the House who's willing to pay her one million dollars to carry his heir!

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S
old! Used By A Gang

Lovely, barely legal Kara learns the true meaning of service when she finds that the only way she can have the Master she wants is to be banged by a whole gang of Masters at once!

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O
wning My Ex

Back against the wall, Victor comes clean to his first slave, Mallory, about what he’s done to her. But she loves it, and only encourages him to go further. He could own everyone, so long as his morals don’t get in the way.

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G
ang Up: Overload

In this post-apocalyptic world, a society has formed around subjugating women and using them as purely breeding servants. But a gang war is about to start between two badass biker gangs, and a hot gang bang is the key to it all...

* * * * *

* * * * *

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T
he gorgeous, mind-bogglingly busty, blond maid was in the yard now, kneeling, waiting for me to enter her.

She had been begging for this for days now. Dropping hints about how many cocks she’d love to have stuffed inside of her gorgeously tight, busty body. She wanted the entire gang to empty themselves on her tight, scorching hot body. Probably, for her, the waiting had felt more like months because she needed it so bad. In her whole life as a beautiful, mouthwatering, servile maid, she had never been stuffed with as many cocks as my gang and I were about to put inside of her.

We gathered around her in the grass, all of us with our hard, strong dicks at full attention in the cool night air. And even though the night was cool, our girls on the sidelines wearing leather jackets to stay warm, the air was hot in the circle we formed. You could feel the heat pouring off from our bodies.

Vivian, the maid, knelt before us, the whole gang. My gang, now. A puddle of milk was under her body, pooling through the grass—all of it from her gorgeously huge, leaking tits. The milk was delicious. I knew that better than anybody. I had taken more than anybody, too. It had changed me; made me taller, stronger, my cock bigger than before. It had made my girls Nora and Willow sexier, more obedient—and completely in love with me.

The milk had made me more confident, more of a man. More of the kind of callous, hard stud that doesn't brook shit from anyone—not even a violent biker gang like the Scorpions. The milk had taught me how right it was for me to do whatever I wanted with Vivian. She was my maid, after all.

But she hadn’t always been.

* * * * *

S
irens coated the night. I heaved as I stumbled through brush after brush, knocking blindly into trees. Small cuts flared up on my arms, legs, and face as branches and twigs swatted into my body. The forest would have been hell to navigate in broad daylight. In the middle of the night, it was next to impossible.

Blood dripped from my body from three different wounds. My leg, my shoulder, and my stomach had all been hit, gunshot, and I was losing blood fast.

An hour before I had been about to become a rich man, robbing the central bank in the city. Thirty minutes before, I had been double-crossed by a man I called my best friend, shot, and left for dead.

I thought I was a goner. Hell, I
knew
I was a goner. I had seen men shot in places less crucial than I was and still die. If not from blood loss, then complications from the wounds. Infection, disease. Or even getting caught in a hospital, where anybody from a rival gang could team up on you and leave you with a slit throat.

I was in trouble city, population: my whole situation. Overhead, I could hear a helicopter thumping away through the air, spotlight flashing in the distance. Some stupid part of me wanted to run to the spotlight so at least then I could know where I was going.

Ahead of me, sparkling out from the darkness, was a light. A house, its backyard lit up. Like some idiot insect, I drifted toward it as quick as I could. Crawling over broken logs and branches, cutting up my hands and feet as I stumbled and fell, got up, and fell again.

Before I knew it, I was in the long back yard of the house. I climbed over the fence, not sure how.  By that, I mean I don't remember it any more. Blood loss sometimes turns into memory loss. My jeans and jacket were clumped with dirt. In front of me was the house, a long series of glass windows working as a direct entrance into a wide room with chairs and a television. There were a few lights on, but they all seemed like hall lights, the sort of night lights you left in an outlet.

I arrived inside of the house in a blur, again barely conscious of how I did it. Seconds melded into each other. I just knew that it the house was dark inside, seemingly unoccupied, and far from the sirens and flashing lights that had followed me now for miles.

Bending over a chair, I heaved and coughed. There was blood in the coughs, layering down to the floor and furniture.

Yup. Dying soon.

What the hell, I figured. I'd been in a biker gang nearly all my life. Nobody could I say I hadn't punched my ticket to die young.

Contemplating my mortality, I heard high heels—someone else inside the house. My stomach dropped, but I laughed. Fine. At least I’d have someone to watch me die.

“Are you Nathan Baron?”

I could barely see her in the shadows of the place. She seemed tall, though, with long golden hair. Her voice was soft and light, but also strangely robotic.

“No,” I said. “I’m Pace.”

Nearby where she stood was a tall lamp. She turned it on, revealing that she wore next to no clothing at all. Just a frilly white maid’s apron and tall white high heels. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Her tits were enormous, the biggest I’d ever seen on a woman in person while still being so buoyant and young, and she sported a wasp-like waist. Her face was angelic, beautiful. I thought maybe I’d already died on the way to the house, and had gone to heaven.

“I see.” Momentary confusion flitted on her face. “Are you my owner?”

Her eyes, bright and willing, were very hard to ignore. I assumed she was on drugs, and a lot of them. It was the only thing I could think of, outside of me having already died, that made any sense.

“Sure,” I said. “Yeah. Your owner. Master of the whole house. That’s me.”

Her face twitched slightly, eyes scanning my body quickly. Up and down, up and down. Her expression changed from blank to confused to ecstatic to aroused to finally, comfortably happy.

“Oh, hello!” she stepped forward. Her legs shone in the dim light, bronzed and sexy.

She smiled prettily. Everything she did was pretty, as a matter of fact.

“I’m
so
glad you’re here, Master. It’s been
so
long that I’ve been waiting for you. Are you here to stay?”

“Oh yeah, I’ll be here for the rest of my life.” I grunted, sliding down into the reclining chair beneath me. What can I say? I was feeling wry. “At least until I pass out and probably bleed to death, okay?”

“Very well. I
love
that you’re here to stay. Are you sure you have to die, though? That seems like a very unfortunate circumstance to be in.”

“Lady, if you can fix it, you go on and fix it.”

I pushed deep back into the recliner. It was nice. Leather. Quickly, my blood began to puddle up inside the pockets on the side of the cushions.

When I looked up again, the maid—I didn’t know what else to call her—was gone. I assumed again that I had died, but now I thought I was in hell. Making up gorgeous women who called me Master and then having them disappear certainly seemed like one version of hell to me.

But she reappeared moments later, the sound of her heels clicking on the hard floor preceding her arrival. In her hands was a first aid kit and a glass of milk.

“Please,” she said, handing me the milk, “drink this?”

Any strength I had was fading. I could barely hold on to the glass, letting it rest on the arm of the chair. Within seconds, she had cut off my pants and then my shirt with thick surgical scissors. I stopped her before she took the scissors to my vest—a man’s got to have some standards, after all.

Steel might have betrayed me, but I was still a Scorpion through and through, and not nobody—not even some sexy-as-fuck maid—was going to rip apart my vest. Those were my colors, my leather, and I had earned every last bit of them.

“My name is Vivian,” she said slowly. God, her voice was so fucking hot. Soft. Like a silk blanket for your brain. It would be nice to die, hearing her speak the whole time.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, examining the bullet wounds. “When I showed up, there was no one at all. Did you know that you’re the first man I’ve ever seen?”

“Huh?”

“Not
ever
, of course.” Her voice melodious. “But ever since I was perfected and made into a maid.”

She was just talking nonsense, now. I had no idea what to make of it. I assumed it was just the drugs talking. I didn’t know what drugs they might be, though, and back at the Hot Poker, where the Scorpions hang, I had seen just about every kind working through a person's system.

“Yes, you see, there must have been some scheduling error. Nathan Baron was supposed to have been here over a month ago. That’s when I arrived, and let myself in. I belong to the house, after all. But no one was here.”

Her fingers roamed over my wounds, careful and prodding. I decided not to look. I didn’t need that kind of fuel for my nightmares.

“Oh yes,” she said. “I will be able to fix you right up. Please, drink your milk?”

Finally, I did as she said. She helped me, holding the glass up to my mouth, and watched me take in the thick, creamy substance with a sort of zealous glee in those bright blue eyes. I could have sworn that she
orgasmed
, her mouth emanating soft, almost imperceptible moans. Tricks of a dying mind, I thought.

I only meant to take a sip, but somehow I swallowed the whole damn glass. The milk hit me hard, heavy. I thought she must have drugged it somehow. It filled my chest with warmth, made everything feel sluggish and good.

There was a harsh, sharp knock at the door. That was a cop’s knock.

“Oh god.” I tried not to groan. “Don’t answer it, please.”

“I must. I
must
answer the door. I am required.”

“But I...fuck. Don’t tell them I’m here, all right?”

“Why not?”

“I’d rather not die in a cop car, okay?”

She smiled. “You are not going to die at all, Master.”

What the hell can you do against such endless enthusiasm?

“Just...don’t tell them...please.”

She got up and strutted to the door. I watched her ass as she left, so tight and shiny. But then she left my view, and I heard her open the door.

I could only hear what they said. I saw nothing.

“Hello, officers. Can I help you?”

“Yes...”

I took their silence as trying to adjust for her wardrobe, or lack thereof.

“Y-Yes, ma’am.” This cop's voice was thick, heavy. He sounded fat. “We’re looking for a bank robber. We think he may have come this way.”

“A bank robber?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“In
this
house? You must be joking.”

“I’m afraid not, ma’am. May we come in?”

“You may
not
. My Owner...I mean, the owner of this was very explicit. No police on his property. He does not trust you to stay within the fourth amendment. I’m sorry, but I must abide by his wishes.”